thedarksiren2 | What I remember of dream # __

cross-posted in

abstractions:

The wind blew through my short-bobbed hair, flashing memories of the red and copper, but mostly a simple brown hue when the sun hit it. Nate from Knowing Finkla was driving the convertible car, and for a moment it might have been red. It didn't matter the color or the make, but the interior was cream, and when I reached to turn the radio dial, my hand was connected to it by a stream of melted-marshmallow goo when I tried to sit back again.

The conversation between us was mumbled and blurred. Sound waves would maneuver themselves between us, much like the goo from the radio dial, only colorful and reminiscent of scenes from Fantasia. I thought about this a moment, wondered if I was deaf as the waves, visually, became more vibrant and clear. Nate's mouth moved, and I should have understood him by reading his lips, but it was a no-win situation.

He laughed at whatever I said, smiled ear-to-ear. For a moment, I saw his girlfriend Tara flickering between us, smiling her pretty smile, her chocolate-colored hair and perfect make-up unmistakable, even in just flickering lights. Nate's smile grew larger, and I felt a sense of warmth in my chest.

We pulled into a cheap motel lot and went on our quest to find

sharpshinyclaws. As I went to leave the car, her boyfriend,

lemming_radio put his right hand firmly on my right shoulder from behind, holding me from getting out for a moment. I turned to look at him in the backseat (was he there the whole time?), looking over my left shoulder, my brows bent disconcertedly.

He spoke of lies and mix-tapes, and told me not to get lost in either of them.

Quick-switch, we're all flickers of light moving in warped-stop-motion and forgotten moments, step-stepping up the outdoor stairway, turn left, but really right because I am watching in third-person, even though I am a first-person participant. Nate knocks on a dingy tan door, and darkness pours out onto us like a tidal wave.

I am sitting in the dark room, watching a large African-American man breathe heavily across the room. He is standing between two twin-beds, his dark skin reflecting the small amount of light from the barely-cracked forest-green drapes on the windows behind me and the chair I am seated in. I begin to look him over - his skin is taught, veins and muscles bulging from beneath it. His mountainous chest rises and falls with determination I don't understand, but I watch anyway, and admire the sheen and non-offensive vulnerability of his shaved head and chocolate eyes.

Next thing I know,

sharpshinyclaws comes out of the bathroom smoking a cigarette in a slinky pink nighty right out of the 70's. Her hair is messy, tousled as if she'd been having sex for hours and never run a comb through it. She has an itch on her face, and when her left hand reaches up to brush it away, a fake eyelash gets its wish.

All speech is still beyond me, as if I am deaf and dumb. She said something, and sex is assumed with the large, dark-skinned man. He is suddenly shrinking, but not in size so much as stature. I can feel his heart breaking over and over again, feelings of filth, disgrace, being an object...

I hear one thing - a line from a Miranda Sex Garden song:

I am now an object, and I know an object's pain.

I am suddenly transported, my chair sitting where the man had been standing, my pale skin reflecting the dim light. I look down to see him climbing awkwardly beneath cottony-white sheets, hiding, trying to escape some beast I cannot see. I see his dark fingers slip beneath the sheets, and his body all but deflates, the sheet drifting slowly back to the shape of the bed.

sharpshinyclaws takes a drag off her cigarette, and tells me she knew it was all just fun and games. "Hearts are like candy, each with a new message, like on Valentine's day. I say we all ignore the message, and just gorge ourselves on flesh."

I furrow my brows, bothered again, confused, and I think I muttered something about a diet.

Just then,

lemming_radio barges in, blasting light into the dark room. I threw up my hands to guard my eyes, and he asked if we completed the ride. Blowing smoke through her smeared pink lipsticky-lips,

sharpshinyclaws smiles wide, her eyes twinkling behind the overnight make-up smudges around them:

"Yes sweetie! We'll be out in a jiffy! MUAH!"
She blew him a kiss, and Nate peeked over

lemming_radio's shoulder, eager but unable to see anything.

My head ached from the blast of light, and I asked for some pain medicine, and woke up with a killer headache and an ant crawling on my back.